


Sublimation

by kscribbles



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Makeup Sex, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:52:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kscribbles/pseuds/kscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A bit more angst in this one.  Couldn't be helped.  Lots of smut to ease the blow, though.  ;) Fantastically beta'd (and encouraged when I shelved this for like six months) by Requialexa.  She's magical. Written in 2009.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A bit more angst in this one. Couldn't be helped. Lots of smut to ease the blow, though. ;) Fantastically beta'd (and encouraged when I shelved this for like six months) by Requialexa. She's magical. Written in 2009.

It was a Friday in late spring and a lovely warm afternoon. She was just finishing up a big case at work, so today was a light day, mostly paperwork, and she’d known she could go home early. She’d dressed casually for the occasion, loving the swish of her flowy skirt around her legs as she walked towards the Doctor’s office. They hardly ever got to see each other until around supper, his work at the university keeping him just as busy as hers at Torchwood most of the time. So she was almost giddy at the thought of meeting him at work and sharing the walk home. It would be a gorgeous start to a relaxing weekend.

He was still working when she arrived and he barely looked up at her over the rim of his glasses as she let herself in to his office. He seemed deeply enmeshed in the papers on his desk, so she just sat in a chair by the door and watched him. He was biting the pencil in his hand, cursing the occasional breeze that came through his open window. His collar was open and his hair was thoroughly ruffled. Trouble at work, then. Something complicated he was working on or he was stressing over the marking of students’ work. He worked himself too hard sometimes, poor thing, but she had to admit he looked good doing it.

“Everything okay?” she asked, swinging her legs back and forth.

“Fine,” he answered shortly.

“You gonna be done soon? We should get home before the weather turns.”

“In a minute!” he bit back.

“All right. God.” She relaxed in her chair and tried not to be affronted. He was just frustrated with work was all. She stared about his sparse office. It didn’t seem very… _him_. There wasn’t much but books–stacks of them–overflowing their cases. A simple utilitarian desk dominated the small room, with two large windows looking out above the campus’s main quad that made the room less stuffy. There was the chair she was sat on, another opposite his desk, and him. That was all. She made a mental note to get him a plant.

“Rose,” he said finally, looking up at her. But there was no smile on his face or in his voice. “Come here.” It was soft, but clearly a command.

She obeyed without question and when she stood across the desk from him she could see how dark his eyes were. She felt her stomach flutter.

“No,” he said. “ _Here_.” He indicated the space right next to him.

She raised an eyebrow at him, but again obeyed without comment. He swivelled his chair to face her as she came to stand next to it. His hands immediately went to her hips and he pulled her roughly so that she was even closer to him. His gaze travelled slowly up her body and when his eyes met hers she nearly gasped at the pure lust she saw there, even behind his glasses. Her body responded automatically and she saw his nostrils flare as he shifted his attention to his hands.

And then quite suddenly those hands were on her bare skin, slipping under her skirt, starting at her knees and moving up her thighs. Her hands flew to his shoulders to steady herself. His intimate touch always made her a bit shaky, but never this quickly. And what was he playing at, getting her so worked up when he knew they still had to walk home?

She did gasp as she felt him grasp the edges of her knickers and begin to pull. Here? They were going to…? She grew even wetter at the prospect, but a flicker of concern shivered through her. He was never quite _this_ forward. Feeling naughty and a bit giddy, she pushed the worry aside as he dragged them past her knees. It’d been a while with how busy they’d both been, and clearly he wanted her as fiercely as she suddenly wanted him.

He pushed her far enough away to bend as he reached her ankles. She stepped out of the bit of cotton and he righted himself in his chair, slipping her knickers into his pocket.

“What’d you do that for?” she drawled coyly.

“So that I could do _this_.” He stood and she squealed in surprise when he grasped her by the hips and lifted her, depositing her onto his desk, papers and things digging into her bum and the backs of her thighs.

He fell back into his chair and then his palms were on her knees, pushing them apart to make room for him between them, and then shoving her skirt up out of the way.

“Doctor,” she said, glancing at the windows, “someone could see.” They were on the first floor at least, not as exposed as they would be on the ground, but the blinds were up, one window thrown wide open.

“Don’t care,” he muttered and brought his mouth down between her legs. No slow nibbles or kisses to her thighs to tease her, just dove straight for her centre. His tongue immediately found her clit and she bucked up against him, catching the frame of his glasses. He gripped hard on her thigh in admonition and resumed his task, sliding his tongue through her moisture, swirling it around her most sensitive spot, then sucking at it, then flicking, and eventually setting up a maddening pattern of precise actions he knew would send her over the edge quickly.

She knew he loved doing this to her, but never had he gone about it so… single-mindedly. Like nothing in the world mattered but getting her off. He let out small moans of appreciation at her taste as he devoured her; she threw her arms back behind her on the desk and leaned back, helplessly lifting her hips toward his face as he drove her to completion.

She gripped tightly onto the papers beneath her as her orgasm coiled inside her. It felt absolutely amazing; his rhythm was relentless, no teasing, no drawing back to let her catch her breath. She bit hard on her lip to hold back the whimpering groans she desperately wanted to release, not wanting to draw anyone’s attention.

“Rose,” he said, pausing only briefly in his movements, his breath hot against her, “come. I want you to come. Now.”

It wasn’t a request. And when he wrapped his lips around her clit again, she obliged him, letting loose a wail as her toes curled, her womb clenched, and her inner walls spasmed powerfully around nothing.

She lay back on the desk, panting, relishing the feel of his slightly rough cheek pillowed against her thigh. But when she lifted a hand and began running it through his hair, he backed his chair up with a loud screech, moving out of her reach.

He stood, smoothed her skirt into place, and pulled her by her hand back into a sitting position. He slid his glasses into his suit pocket and moved around the office, collecting his things. She sat, puzzled, watching him move. He was visibly aroused, but didn’t seem bothered about it. He came round the desk again settling his briefcase on his chair before finally looking at her.

She reached for him, wanting to soothe some of that fire she saw burning in his eyes, but he caught her hands and stilled them.

“Doctor?”

“Rose...” He swallowed heavily. “I... Do you mind? I need some things, just there,” he said, dropping her hands and indicating some papers on the desk.

She hopped down off it onto shaky legs and moved aside, more confused than ever.

He meticulously straightened what they’d upset on the desk, grabbed a stack of papers, tapped them onto the wood to make them uniform and slid them into the case on the chair.

“Ready?” he asked, picking the case up and slinging his coat over his arm. “Like you said, weather.”

She cleared her dry throat and ran her fingers through her hair, straightening it. “Right. Yeah, I guess. Let’s go.”

He held the door open for her on their way out. His hand on her back felt a little like an apology.

 

* * *

They were quiet most of the way home, her mind running over what had happened and what _didn’t_ happen, wondering what was going on in his head. It was unlike him to be silent, even when he was upset. His new humanity, his respectable day job, and his living life in linear order hadn’t changed him _that_ much.

He did eventually shift his things to one hand and take hers with the other, so she figured he might be willing to talk about it.

“So,” she ventured, “What brought that on then, back in your office?”

“Hmm?” he seemed surprised by the question. “Oh, I was just... I’d been thinking about it all day.”

“About doing... that, on the desk?”

“Yes.”

“But why didn’t you let me... you know, return the favour?”

“We needed to get home,” was all he said in answer.

It sounded a bit like a promise and she felt a flash of desire surge through her. He was still acting oddly, but her body didn’t seem much interested in that puzzle.

When they were just about to their flat, she tried to get him talking again, clutching his arm and smiling wide.

“You know, you didn’t hand me back my knickers.”

He looked at her then and her heart nearly stopped at the want in his eyes.

“I’m aware of that, Rose.”

She nearly stumbled up the steps to their front door.

“One stiff breeze,” she said nervously, but still trying for humour, “and we’d have given the whole neighbourhood a show.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” he said, finally giving her a ghost of a smile.

She heard the thunk of his things hitting the concrete and felt him move to stand behind her. Sliding his hands to her hips, he leaned and kissed her neck, close to her ear.

“Open the door, Rose,” he whispered.

She didn’t right away, instead lifted her arm behind her to slide it into his hair, and to lean her body against the warm support of his.

He peppered more kisses over the back of her neck, blowing her hair out of the way and nipping gently at her skin. His hands slid up her body to cup and caress her breasts through her shirt and she wondered if he would shag her right out in the street. She didn’t think she’d mind, at this point. She moaned aloud when she felt him growing hard against her.

“Open the door, Rose,” he repeated in a hot breath against her. And then he growled another word: “quickly.”

Later she’d barely remember fumbling for the keys and turning them in the lock; he was on her with such speed. More aptly, he never released her. They practically fell over each other getting through the door. She caught herself with a hand against the wall above the entry table, and they crashed to a halt, pressed even closer together than before. His groan rumbled through her back and shot straight between her legs, as if he were touching her there again, directly.

His hands, though, had moved under her shirt and were pushing her bra up over her breasts. His warm palms covered them, long fingers spread to catch her nipples between them.

“What you said, about returning the favour?” he said slowly, pushing his hips against her as he panted through the words, “I’m collecting. Yeah?”

“Please,” she moaned, not caring how desperate she sounded. She needed him, now.

His hands left her breasts and he stepped back from her a fraction. Cool air hit her backside as he flipped her skirt over her waist. She bent a bit further over the small table, spread her legs a little further for him. He ran a hand almost too gently over one side of her bare bum, and then with little warning, two fingers slipped to the wetness between her legs and plunged inside.

“Oh,” she breathed out, feeling her knees go weak as he thrust his fingers deep, stroking in and out of her only twice before removing his hands from her entirely.

She heard him fumbling with his trousers and then she felt his hand on her shoulder, gliding down her arm, finally reaching where her hand gripped the edge of the table. He pried her fingers loose and entwined them with his, the tenderness of the gesture surprising her. Then he guided her hand to join her other on the wall in front of her.

He nuzzled at her neck gently and breathed her name reverently. For a second she thought he’d changed his mind, but then he pressed against her and inside, filling her in one sharp thrust as she cried out. He pulled out quickly and slammed back in, his cries joining hers. His hand next to hers trembled, then both his hands were on her hips, pulling her to him even as she pushed back to meet his wild thrusts.

He was frantic in a way she’d rarely seen him, thrusting erratically already, slamming her hard into the wood table. He was close and she was getting there quickly herself, but she needed more. She threw her arms backward around his neck and into his hair, throwing off his balance. With a grunt he recovered and bent her over the table for more leverage. She whimpered at the change in angle, so close now.

Above her, he choked out words she didn’t understand, but it was her name again that sent her over the edge. He was pulsing inside her already when her orgasm shot through her. The ecstasy seemed to go on forever, each powerful clench of her muscles around him sending tendrils of pleasure through every inch of her body.

She panted, cheek pressed against a cool spot on the wood, recovering. He was draped over her; she could feel his heart galloping against her back even through the layers of clothing they still mostly wore.

As the aftershocks subsided, he stirred, slipping from her body and straightening.

“Sorry,” she heard him mutter.

“What?” She stood as well, righting her clothes and facing him.

He gently touched her hip, the top of her thigh, over her skirt. “I hurt you.”

It didn’t hurt just now, but she’d probably be bruised later. That didn’t bother her much, but he looked terribly upset by the idea.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Are _you_ okay?”

She saw his eyes clear and a mask of nonchalance slip over his features. “Yeah, ‘course I am.” He ran a hand through his hair and stepped away to close the front door.

She gasped. The front door. “We... Doctor? _Did_ we just give the whole neighbourhood a show?”

He shrugged. “If we didn’t give them something to talk about, they’d make things up.” He slipped past her and walked into the kitchen.

She followed, wobbling a little on her feet.

“You hungry?” he called.

She trailed in after him and sank gratefully into a chair at the kitchen table, watching him pull things from the fridge. He selected what appeared to be random items she knew he’d turn into some strange concoction in a minute. He was quiet, not talking or even singing to himself like he usually did while cooking. And he was avoiding looking at her entirely which set off more alarm bells. After making love, the Doctor, who was usually pretty touchy-feely anyway, loved to hold her. And if they’d indulged in a quickie, they’d at least toss each other conspiratorial glances and grins for a little while afterwards. He was behaving like he was angry with her, had been all afternoon... mostly.

He grabbed a water bottle from the back of the fridge, opened it, leaned against the counter and tipped his head back, drinking from it in greedy gulps. When he’d downed half the bottle, he turned to her, setting it on the table in front of her.

“Drink that,” he said and went back to fussing with the foodstuffs.

She could see in how he moved that he was still tense. Mind-blowing sex hadn’t relaxed him. She picked up the bottle and fiddled with it. “Doctor...” she began uncertainly, “Are we gonna talk about this?”

“About what, the neighbours? Sod them.”

She sighed. “About you. About... in the hall, and your office...”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” He dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out her knickers. He set them on the table as well. “There you are.” He turned away again.

“Doctor, what’s got into you?”

She saw his fists clench at his sides. “I... I have a lot on mind, Rose.”

He’d been about to say something else, she was sure, but she couldn’t begin to guess at what. He made it sound final as well, somehow. Like his non-answer was answer enough. He was waving her concern away and trying to move on–a habit she’d been working on with him to break, or bend a little, at least. And while he was more open and willing to talk–in general–than he had been in the old days, he still clammed up frequently. It wasn’t often, though, that he shut her out entirely, like he seemed to be doing now.

He spoke again, startling her from her thoughts. “I’m writing a grant proposal to bring the university’s Physics program into this century. Torchwood nabs all the best minds before they can make their contributions to general science.”

She didn’t understand why he was telling her this. Was he just changing the subject, just making small talk?

“Oh. Um. Sorry about that? I’ll have a word with–”

But he cut her off, turning around to face her again. “I have 83 term papers to mark and most of those students couldn’t find a molecular extrapolator with both hands.”

But he _loved_ his students...

He barrelled right over her unspoken thought, his voice remaining a steely calm. “I have that committee meeting on interplanetary relations with the President that I need to prepare for.”

“Doctor, I don’t–”

“Not to mention I have the growth of our young TARDIS to encourage and monitor if we ever want to see the stars again.”

She was growing frustrated. “I understand that you’re busy, I do, but what does that–”

“ _You_ do not understand, Rose!” He exploded at her.

She blinked, trying not to respond defensively or emotionally. At a loss, she remained silent.

When he spoke again it was through clenched teeth. “You have _no_ idea. I used to be a _Time Lord_ , Rose.”

He tossed the knife he’d been holding onto the counter with a clatter and stalked out of the kitchen, leaving her gaping like a fish. Seconds later, she heard the door to his workshop slam.

What the hell had just happened? She’d barely said a word and he was yelling and throwing things.

Hot panic welled up in her, threatening to spill as tears, as old fears resurfaced. In the past, when things got uncomfortable for the Doctor, he left. But hopping away to destinations unknown wasn’t so easy anymore. And they’d made a _life_ here. If it wasn’t enough for him...?

She clutched at the water bottle, tearing absently at the paper label and forced herself to take some deep breaths. No. It didn’t add up. If he didn’t want her and the life they had together, why ravish her in his office, why fuck her in the hall, not even pausing long enough to close the door, let alone make it to the couch or the bedroom?

He was frustrated with something, he was feeling... less than what he was. But it wasn’t just that he had too much to do. The Doctor was nothing if not the best multitasker on the planet. He thrived when busy–would be bored with less to do. They’d tried that early on, him leading a more leisurely life, to ease into his human-like day to day existence. Household items were in pieces or on fire within days. So his job at the university came quickly, then the various committees, and the liaising with Torchwood and the government.

And all seemed to be going well. Life had settled into a chaotic, unpredictable sort of normal and she loved almost every minute of it. Six months ago, standing with him on a cold beach in Norway, she’d never imagined they’d be this happy. At least as of this morning. Now?

The tears escaped her eyes then as her aggravation mounted. She brushed them aside, still thinking furiously. She tossed the facts around and around in her head for god knows how long and only came to one unhelpful conclusion. He was having a sulk.

Well, he could damn well keep at it. There was nothing she could do if he wasn’t willing to talk. She wasn’t a mind reader. What she was was hungry and thirsty and bone tired.

She stood, finally, and drained the rest of the water bottle. She grabbed a handful of abandoned carrots from the cutting board and headed off for a long warm shower.


	2. Sublimation

Several hours later she lay in bed alone, having not heard a peep from the Doctor, besides the occasional clatter of metal from the other side of his workshop door. She hadn’t been able to sleep at all; her mind wouldn’t still. She was equal parts worried and angry... and a rebellious part of her was still lingering over the memories of how he’d made her feel earlier. That even though he’d been distracted and frustrated, angry even–she, her body, had been his singular focus. He needed her. It was a heady, powerful feeling and an arousing one as well, as much as she tried to stem that flow of thoughts. 

He _needed_ her for more than the release her body could give his, and that’s what she should be focusing on now. Wasn’t that what the other Doctor had said? _He needs you_.

It wasn’t fair! She wasn’t his keeper, his babysitter. She was his partner, his equal, and she shouldn’t have to drag things out of him. Shouldn’t he want to tell her?

She sighed, hating feeling helpless. She should know by now when there was nothing she could do, when to sit back and let him handle it. She should trust him–she _did_ trust him–to do that on his own and to come to her if he _did_ need her. But she was never one for sitting back and doing nothing.

She scrunched her eyes, punched the pillow in frustration, and tried to sleep again.

It was late when he finally came into the bedroom. She was beginning to think he wouldn’t at all. He didn’t turn on the light, just fumbled for a few minutes in the dark and slipped into the en suite without saying a word. The shower switched on, the particular groan in the pipes indicating he had the hot water turned up all the way.

She tossed anxiously in bed, trying to get comfortable, still hoping for sleep to claim her but having little luck. She settled on her side, her back facing the bathroom and his side of the bed. Eventually, a shaft of light split the darkness of the room. It was gone as quickly as it came, and then she felt his weight settling on the bed as he sat on the edge. In the stillness she could hear each of his breaths, the scratch of the towel as he passed it back and forth over his damp hair, then the dull thump as the towel hit the floor across the room.

He slid properly into the bed, gingerly lifting the covers as though not to disturb her. She could tell he was lying stiffly on his back–could practically feel the waves of tension coming from him.

The silence stretched between them, an impassable gulf that made it feel like there were miles between them rather than inches. She took to counting her heartbeats. When she reached 189, he let out a tremendous sigh and rolled to his side. He laid a hand lightly on her shoulder.

“Rose, would you look at me?”

She remained still, unsure.

“Please?”

She was always powerless to deny him anything when he pleaded; now was no different. Not to mention it would be ridiculous to ignore him if he was finally willing to talk.

She flipped to her side carefully and regarded him in the semi-dark.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

He leaned forward to kiss her, but she stopped him with a hand on his bare chest. He sighed again.

“I didn’t think that would be enough,” he said dejectedly.

“It’s not.”

He was quiet and she was patient, even if she was mentally tapping her foot.

After at least a minute had passed, he cleared his throat and spoke softly. “I told you I had a lot of things on my mind.”

She huffed. “That’s not an answer.”

“Let me finish,” he said gently.

“Fine.” She awkwardly crossed her arms over her chest.

“All those things I mentioned before? Everything I keep busy with? I juggle them all at once. And it’s not a problem. I can focus on several, many, things at a time. That much hasn’t changed from... before. Do you know what has?” He paused, flipped over onto his back, scrubbed his hands over his face and took a deep breath. “You. _You_ are the confounding variable, Rose.”

She drew in a sharp breath, ready to vehemently deny it, but he turned back to her and placed his fingertips against her lips, stilling her.

“Or more precisely,” he went on, “my... reaction to you. When I said I’d been thinking about it all day, I wasn’t exaggerating. Thinking about how you’d taste, about how you’d react, the sounds you’d make when I used my mouth on you– _that’s_ what can push other thoughts from my head. All thoughts, any thoughts. _You_.”

She flushed at his words, not sure whether she was meant to be insulted, complimented, or aroused by them.

“Is that so bad?” she asked.

“In and of itself? No. I usually _like_ being preoccupied by you, Rose. Only, before...” he closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if he was summoning strength, “before the metacrisis, I could control it. I wanted you, you know I did. But I could shift the desire aside, until it was... appropriate to deal with it.”

“Or not deal with it at all?” she supplied.

“Yes, that too. Now, sometimes, like today, I can’t think of anything else. I _should_ have had a lot on my mind. But there was only you. I would try to read a student’s paper and the letters would make a pattern in the shape of your body. I’d reach for a pen from my coat and catch the scent of you from when you wore it the other day, and I’d imagine it spread out beneath you while I fucked you.”

She bit her lip and unclasped her arms, tamping down on the desire to fidget further under his gaze, or to reach out and touch him.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m not explaining this well. I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“No. It’s okay. Just help me understand. You said,” she swallowed deeply, “you said you used to be a Time Lord...”

“Time Lords don’t get distracted by their lust, Rose. Not so completely. It’s one of the few ways I’m different, aside from the big things you already know about. My brain can handle 900 years of memories and the nearly infinite knowledge I’ve gathered over those years. I can sense timelines and feel the earth turn, and I can taste what you’re feeling on your skin. But I can’t focus on a term paper, when I’m thinking about what you look like when you come. I can’t revise the speech I’m to give before the Presidential committee when the only word I want to hear is _yes_ , coming in a gasp from your lips.”

She nearly whimpered. But he wasn’t really trying to turn her on; he was pouring his heart out to her. How he’d felt today wasn’t an isolated incident. Six months he’d been wrestling with how to deal with this, and he’d never mentioned it. Only today it finally came to a head. So to speak. She laid her hand encouragingly on his chest. “Go on.”

“So I was frustrated at my... limitations. And I took it out on you. I’m sorry for that. But I can’t afford to be distracted like this, Rose. The work I do here is important. It might not quite be saving the universe...”

“It is,” she insisted. “That’s what we are, Doctor. Defenders of the Earth.”

He nodded. “And the next time aliens invade? I can’t let my desires get in the way of–”

“Just like _him_ ,” she said, pulling her hand away like she’d been burned.

“What?”

“Love gets in the way of being a Time Lord,” she said bitterly, sitting up, half tempted to be the one to march off in a huff.

“No, Rose, no,” he said, sitting up as well and gripping her arms. His eyes pleaded with her, saying what his lips didn’t: _No, I won’t leave you_.

It was an argument they’d had dozens of times in those first few weeks. The other Doctor’s motivations, his feelings, why he’d sent the two of them away. And while she never fully understood why he’d done it, she had to accept it, had to move on and make a go of the brand new life he’d handed to her.

She sighed, relaxing in his grip.

“Don’t you understand? You’re _allowed_ distraction, Doctor. _You_ don’t have to be the one to give up everything you want.”

“But...?”

“You’re still overwhelmed. And you let yourself be distracted because you haven’t had not to. Believe me, you won’t be thinking about orgasms when some slimy Halfomaxan has his tentacles around your neck.”

“Or your neck,” he said, pitching his voice low, releasing her and drawing the fingers of one hand over the neck in question. She shivered.

“Oi,” she said, catching his fingers in her hand. “Now who’s being distracting?”

“Sorry,” he said, chastised. “And you’re right. I know you’re right. But sometimes I can’t imagine ever not feeling this way. Today, I think it’s possible a wrecking ball could have come in through my office window and I wouldn’t have stopped until you came.”

“You stopped before _you_ did,” she reminded him, running her fingers along his jaw.

“Moment of clarity. You may recall it didn’t last long.”

“Mmm,” she murmured.

He leaned forward and kissed her, and she found she didn’t want to stop him this time. He stopped himself, though, after only a few moments.

“This being human thing. Think I’ll ever figure it out?”

“I think so,” she answered. “You’re good at everything, remember?”

He tilted his head and shifted his eyes, considering. “You do have a point.” He grinned.

She smiled back and tackled him playfully, climbing over him when he was on his back again. She peppered kisses over his face before settling her lips over his, kissing him carefully as his hands went to her waist, slipping under her t-shirt to caress her bare skin. She pulled away just enough to see his face properly.

“Is this okay?” she asked.

“Are you kidding?” he replied, sliding his hands to her arse and pressing her against his growing erection.

She groaned at the small bit of friction that provided. Shaking her head to clear it, she blew a wayward hair out of her face and sat up, straddling him. “No,” she said seriously, “I just mean... are you all right? Earlier you were so angry. And–”

“I wasn’t angry with you.” He gripped the edges of her shirt and managed to pull it over her head. “I’m sorry you had to see me that way.”

“I’m not,” she said, gasping as his hands cupped her breasts and he brushed his thumbs over her nipples. “But promise me something, yeah?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “That I talk to you about what’s bothering me before we get to the furious shagging?”

She nodded and kissed him again. “Or during,” she said against his lips.

“During works,” he agreed.

She yelped as he clutched her to him and quickly rolled them over. She hissed then, more in surprise at the flash of pain that flared at the spot of one of her newly formed bruises as he settled above her, than at the pain itself.

“Sorry!” he whipped the duvet out of the way and bent to examine her skin, and she marvelled that he could see much anything at all with the only light being the low glow of the city bleeding in through the curtains.

He ran his fingers over the tender flesh so softly that it caused no plain, only increased her desire. “I think you’ll be fine,” he proclaimed, sealing his prognosis with a gentle kiss to her thigh. “Just in case, though... gently this time?”

She nodded, feeling an answering throb between her legs.

He placed another kiss against her belly, more along her body to her breasts, his tongue teasing the stiff point of a nipple before he engulfed it with his warm mouth.

“You taste,” he said, pulling back just enough to speak, his breath still teasing her sensitive flesh, “wonderful _every_ where, Rose.”

“Yes,” she breathed out in response to his mouth at her other breast.

“You agree?”

“Whatever,” she said, absently. She wanted them both naked, wanted him inside her. “Take my knickers off.”

He chuckled against her skin, detouring only slightly in obeying her command by kissing his way back down her body. He slipped his fingers beneath the elastic and ran his fingers over the skin of her hips for a moment beneath the fabric before grasping it and slowly tugging. It was so different than the last time he’d done this to her, only hours ago. Then he’d been all about expediency, removing the barriers to what he wanted. Now he was peeling the garment from her as if he were unwrapping a precious gift. When he’d pulled them off her legs, he sat at the edge of the bed and slipped out of the only bit of clothing he’d been wearing–his pyjama trousers–and tossed them across the room somewhere, before turning back to her.

He slid a hand up her leg, ankle to inner thigh, before dipping his fingers teasingly into her centre, just skimming through her wetness. She knew he’d find her well ready enough and she squirmed under his touch, trying to get him where she wanted, against her clit or inside, but he avoided both.

“Beautiful everywhere too,” he said, his voice unnervingly steady. “I love how wet you get for me. How quickly.”

She sighed, frustrated already with his teasing. “Come back up here,” she whispered.

“If you insist.”

He shifted and carefully pulled himself over her again, settling on his elbows and between her thighs, his cock hot and hard against her, but again not where she needed it. She wasted no time in thrusting her fingers into his hair, pulling him down into a kiss. She slid her tongue into his mouth and delighted in the groan that rumbled through him, telling her he wasn’t as in control as he’d like her to believe.

She broke the kiss, breathing heavily against him, squirming anxiously beneath him. “Need you,” she pleaded, dropping her arms to the sheets and fisting them tightly.

He nodded and shifted onto one elbow so he could reach between their bodies, slipping himself into position at her entrance. He pushed inside her slowly, and as much as she loved those times when he’d just slam into her all at once like earlier, right now she revelled in the feel of each inch sliding in, filling her.

“Rose,” he said when he was fully sheathed within her.

She opened her eyes, not having realised she’d closed them.

“I love you,” he said.

It was something he rarely said, even during sex, and she knew he was thanking her–for understanding, for setting him to rights, for loving _him_ –as much as telling her how he felt.

Her answer was stolen on a gasp as he began to move, drawing out only a little faster than he’d pushed in. She threw her head back onto the pillow and her eyes slid closed again, and he repeated his movements.

“No,” he said. “Look at me. Please.”

She struggled to comply as he set up an unhurried rhythm she tried to meet with her own movements. His gaze smouldered, fuelling her body’s growing tension as it reiterated the love he’d just professed, and made her feel all the more treasured.

She threw her arm around his neck, wanting to touch more of him, and with a long groan his own eyes fell shut and his pace increased.

He pulled her to him, his arms going under her shoulders, his face buried in the crook of her neck, his breath coming in warm damp pants against her skin as he moved deliciously within her over and over again. His deep, short thrusts sliding past that one spot inside her made her eyes roll and toes curl, made her body sing with all the other clichés of pleasure she’d never experienced with anyone else.

He had her dancing on the edge of orgasm quicker than she’d have thought possible after coming twice already earlier. It pulled her under swiftly and engulfed her completely, leaving her quivering and limp beneath him, the echo of her cries reverberating in the room when she became aware again.

He hadn’t fallen with her but was motionless except for the heaving of his chest with his shuddering breaths.

“Okay?” he asked in a choked whisper.

She ran her hands over the tensed muscles of his back. “Brilliant.”

He began to move again, no hint of the languorous rhythm they began this with. Hard and fast, he drove into her, slamming against her, straining towards a completion. He seemed to have forgotten his vow to be gentle, not that she minded in the least.

“Rose,” he panted. “Need...”

She wasn’t sure if he was asking for something, or what it might be, but she hiked her legs to his waist and whispered those three words back to him.

His reaction was immediate and... explosive. A final push inside her and he tensed above her, spilled within her, mixing her name with calls to heaven, to gods she knew he had no faith in.

“Wow,” he said simply, lifting his head when he could speak.

She let her legs fall from around him. “All right?” she asked again, pushing his damp hair from his forehead.

“Oh yes.” He kissed her and then moved gingerly, slipping from her and rolling onto his back beside her.

They were both still for several minutes then, the sweat cooling on their skin, only the sounds of the night outside and their breathing filling the room.

“Good at everything, you said?” he asked, turning his head to towards her and grinning.

“Shut it, you!” She swatted him lightly about the chest and he grabbed her hands and planted kisses on them. He released them and she curled against his side, cuddling. “And yes,” she admitted, sighing.

“Hah!” he exclaimed, pulling their duvet back over them.

After a few more minutes of silence, she spoke again, sleepily. “And it does get easier. Being human, I mean.”

“You know this, how?”

“Was divine once, remember?”

“I remember,” he answered. “You don’t, though.”

“Technicality,” she mumbled.

He let out a short laugh and shifted, settling her more comfortably against him, her head on his chest. She fell asleep then, his breath stirring her hair and his heart thumping its steady pace beneath her ear.

 

FIN  



End file.
